Halloween - The Ghost of the Baroness

Even in the darkness that surrounded his car, Michael could see the black smoke rising from the engine. His old workhorse had finally given up. The lights inside the vehicle flickered, and the car gave its last sputter of life before fading completely. Michael was left in darkness, alone.

The man slammed the door shut behind him as he exited, the sound being lost amongst the roar of rain that fell across the old metal frame. He was miles from anywhere, in the middle of the night, with no way of getting his car working again. He popped open the bonnet, staring at the mass of pistons and gears that he had expected he’d never need to know about, until now. Frustrated, he pulled it down, knowing somehow that even if he knew how to fix the car, he’d probably not be able to without any tools to hand.

Michael looked back down the road as far as he could in the gloom. He considered trekking back along the dirt path he had somehow found himself on and try and find a road that was more populated, perhaps hitchhiking back to town. The rain beat down heavier, and he knew that even that was a lost hope – no one would be driving in this storm unless they were as foolish as he was.

A sudden crack of lightning jolted him from his annoyance. In a half second, Michael was able to get a glimpse of his surroundings. He had turned down a side road with the intention of taking a shortcut, but instead found himself on an overgrown dirt track. The lightning had briefly shown the spindly trees towering above him, but in the distance at the end of the road, he was certain he saw the silhouette of a large building. As he focused and tried to make out the distant shape in the blinding rain, he could just about make out the outline of some kind of house, large with tall towers, and no doubt as abandoned as the road that connected it to the rest of the world. Michael was just about to set off away from it when he saw a flicker of light in one of the upper windows, before being snuffed out completely. He waved, but it did not turn back on. Desperate, Michael headed off towards it. Even if it was creepy that someone might be watching him, he was willing to take the risk if it meant he could get out of the storm.

As he drew closer to the building, Michael was slowly able to take in the scale of the place. It was massive, some sort of old manor house that had long since been consigned to history. He could see scant moonlight reflecting in some of the upper windows, but most of the glass had long since been smashed. The heavy tiles that covered the building had almost all been peeled away in the decades of neglect, some still clinging on to the building, teetering precariously in the wind. Michael banged on the door; his fist closed. Unsurprisingly, there was no response, though the door didn’t feel as sturdy as he expected. The knocker was rusted, the wood splitting in places. The storm howled ever louder, and despite his hesitation, Michael pushed the ancient door open, stepping inside.

Shutting the door behind him, the storm was suddenly muted. Michael took a moment to catch his breath, unaware how quickly he had been breathing in the chaos of the storm. Now, he was inside, under shelter, and could try and take stock of his surroundings. He was in the foyer of a large house. Dusty floorboards creaked under his feet, somehow not rotten away in the darkness. The room was lit haphazardly – thin beams of moonlight jutted down through tiny holes in the roof high above, and now and then a flash of lightning outside gave him the briefest glimpse of what the inside truly looked like. There was a large staircase ahead of Michael, leading off into the depths of the house. At the right of it, barely in his view, he spotted the flicker of light once more. It was not the harsh white of the lightning or the moon, but soft and warm, as if from a fire.

“Hello?” Michael called out into the empty building. The light he had spotted disappeared as soon as the words left his lips. “Anyone there? I’m sorry to barge in – my car is wrecked. I need to call for help.” Michael waited, but there was no response, save for the frame of the building being buffeted by the elements outside. Amongst the din, a tiny voice emerged, barely audible.

“Husband?”

“Hello?” Michael repeated, scared. Again, there was no response from the house. Had he imagined the voice? Perhaps he had imagined the light as well? He ran his hands through his hair, his fingers immediately soaked from the rain that was still far from drying. This was far more stress than he was used to dealing with, and it was beginning to take its toll.

Slowly, Michael climbed the staircase, over to where he thought he saw the light, and to where he perhaps imagined the voice. If the house was empty, he could at least wait here for a moment while he waited for the storm to pass. The stairs groaned underfoot, and Michael slowed his pace even further. The last thing he wanted was to tumble through it into whatever ancient basement lay below the building. Gripping onto the banister for support, he finally made it to the landing at the top of the stairs. Here, the building looked far less ruined than the ground floor did. There was still a trace of dull wallpaper peeling from the walls, and moth-eaten carpets muffled his footsteps. On his right he could see another door, with a thin crack of light coming from it, the same warm glow that he had spotted earlier.

Desperate, Michael pushed his way inside. He found himself in a bedroom, oddly untouched from the rigours of time. Even the window at the far end of the room was immaculate. He could see the still smoking remains of his car clearly through the glass. Strangest of all, set on a table near the window, was a candle, flickering softly. An icy chill ran down Michael’s back, far colder than the rain had ever been. Something was wrong. He knew that the candle wasn’t lit when he was approaching the house, but it was lit now. Someone was inside the house with him.

Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed shut behind him, forcing him to turn around with a yell. Then, he saw her – mere inches away from him, a thin, ghostly figure of a woman wearing a long dress. Her eyes were sunken, and what little could be seen of her phantasmal skin looked frail and worn. Despite the terrifying appearance of the spectre, a pleasant smile crossed her face, as though she was remembering some blissful memory.

“Husband? You have returned to me!” came her voice, barely more than a whisper but feeling like it was booming in Michael’s ears. Her voice was polite and measured, better suited to conversation over dinner than confronting an intruder in a storm. Michael was frozen with fear. Through shaking teeth he managed to chatter out one word.

“No…” he said, his voice wavering. In an instant, the ghost’s expression twisted hideously. Gone was the innocent expression, replaced by a face of pure rage. She opened her mouth and screamed.

The voice was higher than Michael thought ever possible, a banshee’s wail that left his eardrums thrumming with shock. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, but it did nothing to stifle the scream. Pain was searing into his mind, and he felt himself yell, though it was lost beneath the woman’s wailing.

The ghost’s form faded for a moment, before launching at Michael with supernatural speed, decades of grief made manifest. The spirit dove into his open mouth, her scream muffling as she moved inside of him. Slowly, Michael opened his eyes. His joy at seeing the ghost had gone was cut short when he felt a sharp pain deep within his core. The ghost wasn’t gone. It was inside of him.

Michael felt as though he was choking, gasping for the stagnant air in the bedroom. He cried out as the pain intensified. Inside of him, the spirit was working its way through his organs, reshaping them into a more suitable form. Painfully, he felt his bones begin to creak and strain. Convulsing, he dropped to the floor with a thump, screaming as the bones cracked and reformed around him. One by one, they were breaking and reknitting into something smaller, something frailer. A spectral gust of wind tore Michael’s clothes from his body, throwing them across the room. He was left naked on the dry floor, his familiar body reshaping before his eyes. He cried out, begging the ghost to stop, but it did nothing in response to his pleas. He could feel it moving about his body, examining each inch of him in turn and brutally changing it.

His short hair began to be pulled, dark strands being wrenched out from his scalp, each tug followed by a sharp yelp from the helpless Michael. Soon, it was curled into dark locks, tumbling across the floor as he writhed. The man forced himself to look at his body. Already, it was becoming unlike the one he knew so well. The bulkiness and weight of his male frame had been torn away as his bones adjusted, leaving him thin, with wide hips.

A wardrobe at the end of the room burst open with a loud bang and another gust of wind shot from it. It lifted Michael up in the air as if he weighed no more than a feather, flailing uselessly against the overwhelming force. From out of the wardrobe, as if carried by a host of invisible servants, various clothes were being brought forth. A white underdress hovered up above Michael for a moment, before squeezing down over him. As much as he struggled with the layers of rich fabric, there was little he could do, the spectre easing his limbs brutally into place. The dress was brought down over his shrunken body, the lace fastening about his waist with a scream, soon muffled as it came in tight about his shrinking neck. He could feel his torso compressing with every movement. The skin beneath the dress rapidly grew softer and lost much of the hair covering it, the skin now newly sensitive to the pain that he was in.

Next, a pair of stockings appeared, writhing like snakes as they unknotted themselves and crept towards him. Michael’s feet were painfully suspended in front of him, and he watched as they slowly crept over him. The flesh beneath the fabric lost all of its muscle, fat sliding up to his rear and leaving Michael with a pert behind. A pair of stark white knickers next appeared, and Michael screamed as he knew what was to come. They flew up over his thinner legs, compressing tightly over his genitals. Soon, there was a sharp pain in his groin, followed by a searing heat inside of him. Beneath the underwear, Michael feared what had happened to his manhood, but knew that beneath the cotton he was suddenly feeling a lot emptier.

A black dress hovered ominously out of the wardrobe, the grim colour of mourning. The wide skirt opened, and it dropped over him, fastening tighter and tighter at the waist. Michael’s arms were twisted into the puffy sleeves, the underdress perfectly fitting beneath the larger garment. An ache was growing in his chest, forcing tired moans from Michael’s lips. Two fatty mounds had begun to form, fat bubbling painfully underneath his skin as perky breasts formed, compressed tightly underneath the layers of the fabric.

Two tiny black shoes plodded cumbersomely along the floor, gathering in pace as they grew closer to Michael’s floating body. Even as he lashed out in pain, he could see that they were far too small. They leapt onto his feet, and he screamed as he felt the many bones crushing to fit, his feet soon shrinking into the small pair of slight heels. Black silk gloves emerged next, and Michael could feel his hands stretching out against his will as they slipped over his digits, breaking and reforming them in turn.

Lastly, a black lace headpiece whirled around him. Michael begged to be let go, even if his body was now completely not his own, but the ghost did not listen. The headpiece jumped onto his longer hair, two black ribbons fastening tight across his chin. He screamed, but they clamped his jaw shut. Soon, he could feel crunching in his ears as his whole face horribly restructured. His broad jawline cracked and remoulded itself, giving his shrinking head a rounder, more elegant look. Prominent cheekbones jutted out of his now porcelain smooth face, his nose thinning. The bushy eyebrows that once topped his face became immaculately plucked and groomed, and soon his face was plastered with a layer of makeup, highlighting his features even in the candlelight.

Michael dropped to the floor, steadying himself on his heels. He looked down at his body – now brutally turned into that of a woman dressed in the height of 19thcentury fashion. At least the pain had stopped. Just then, he spotted the candle by the window once more. As he stared into the flickering flame, the wax pooling onto the shining candle holder, Michael could feel himself slipping away as easily as the wax dripped down below. Memories were fading, one by one. His sense of self was growing fragmented and twisted. Soon, new thoughts and feelings were flowing in. Knowledge of a different world entirely began to overtake his brain. One thought began to grow stronger than all others, one that Michael knew was not his own and he raged against it before he could slip away. A thought of overwhelming love and devotion became all that his mind could focus on. It was an undying love for the most important person in the world: her husband.

The baroness walked over to the window, gently lifting the candle in her small hands. She stared at the flames for a moment, the light reflecting in her eyes. She almost felt as though she had forgotten something but put the thought aside. She had much more important things to focus on. The woman stared through the glass at the road beyond it, wondering when her husband would return and save her from this loneliness.

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It may still be only September, but I like to get stories done early. Here's my Halloween story for this year! I'm hoping to do more seasonal stories like this between commissions, so hopefully you can expect something for Christmas as well.

It's been a while since I've done a forced and painful transformation. I hope you enjoy it! More regular commissions coming soon. Thank you all for supporting me on here, it means so much!